


he jumped, he landed

by rayfelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimension Travel, Gen, a chance to start again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7749775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayfelle/pseuds/rayfelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic could do so much. And also so little.</p><p>or; Harry wakes up in a universe not his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he jumped, he landed

Sometimes Harry hated magic with his whole being.

Sometimes, Harry wished he had never know it; had been born a squib; had lost it during that fateful night. Anything, _anything_ at all to escape this world built on spells and fantasies.

And sometimes, sometimes Harry could only fall on his knees and cry without tears about the injustice of it all. So many deaths (even when there were spells, tricks to escape that kind of fate), the burdens and the things he could not save.

Magic could do so much. And also so little.

…

He sat in the plush chair, back against the window and eyes counting the wrinkles in the old wooden floors. Godric’s Hollow was a warm place in summers, but all Harry felt was crushing cold deep inside of him.

They were alive and he was not. In this dimension, in this new reality he had fallen into.

Pictures of a blessed wedding day, portraits of three young children (but not baby Harry, that was too painful, he knew) and moving memories of the Marauders and Lily hung on the walls. There were worn books in the shelves, small figurines from places Harry had never been to placed on round tables.

A lived-in house, not the rotting ruins he knew too well. A happy family, alive.

Harry did not belong and here he was. Broken by the war, used by the Order and society, a stranger in every sense of the word.

…

“I can’t. I’m, I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He breathed out shards of glass and his hands trembled. Too much, too bright. These were not his parents, his siblings (two sisters and a brother, a beautiful mix of Lily and James; none had his green eyes), not his lives to ruin.

He met them, he told them and now he will run away. Why had he believed it would be the smart thing to do – barge into the lives of others and once again pull them along the insanity that followed everywhere he walked. Not his world, not his family.

Potter luck, his Sirius had called it. Voldemort’s curse, is what Harry named it later on.

Lily reached forward and choked when Harry flinched away, his eyes wild and magic static along his skin. “ _Please_. We just got you back.” She whispered, her voice wind chimes and chamomile tea. “Please.”

“I am not your Harry.” Harry said instead and ran. Too much, too much. He missed what he had never had, he carved everything that was Lily into his heart and hoped to never see her again.

Cruel, so cruel was magic.

…

He was stuck in this dimension, this world that was the same as his but also not. Faces that Harry knew passed him by on the street; people that had been killed in his world lived a happy life in this one. Some days he thought he was tearing apart by the seams and going insane. Other ones it seemed like things might get better.

Sirius found him when he had stopped at the same beach where Voldemort hid the pendant. It wasn’t there in this reality – one difference that made this place better than his in all the ways. The Boy Who Lived in this world would not see the horrors of a desperate human being.

“Prongs and Lils wanted to come instead of me; I thought that I might be a better choice.” The man said as he sat next to the child soldier on the edge of the cliff. Wind was warm and the waters down below crashed against the ancient rock. “It’s probably hard for you.”

Harry breathed in the salt and closed his eyes. “You’re all dead in my world. It’s like I am talking with ghosts. I never even knew them, my parents. I never knew mom’s voice was so beautiful.” A jungle of emotions, an avalanche of desperate hopes drowned him from all sides.

…

“Your world doesn’t sound like a good place.” Sirius said after their fifth meeting, soda held loosely in his hands and Remus by his side. Panic and desperation no longer tore Harry apart when he saw these two men. Small steps. “They turned you into a thing, a weapon.”

Harry laughed and tilted forward, hands still gripping onto the chains keeping his swings up and above. “Well, I was to kill the greatest evil of all time. Dumbledore didn’t really have a choice.” But weren’t those excuses and nothing else?

“No child should be made to fight a war that is not his.” Remus smiled, a little sad along the curve of his lips. He seemed younger here, less haunted. “I can also understand, a little. But that does not make it right. Or fair, towards you.”

Harry looked at them both and thought about the Weasley family, the Gangers and the James and Lily Potter who sacrificed themselves so their son could live a little longer. He felt the tears and cried silently. “I was always so alone.”

…

Harry didn’t go home.

He traveled the land that lacked the wounds of war, where blood was not soaking the soil. Sometimes Sirius or Remus (or both) found him. They exchanged stories, exchanged histories.

And then, one sunny day, the three Potter children came with Remus and Harry’s world stopped spinning for a few seconds. The girls (Rosalyn and Melanie) had a slight tan, their skin a nice contrast to their dark red hair, hazel eyes alight with wonder towards the world and magic. Jai had Lily’s pale skin and James’ wild hair, eyes a mix of both green and hazel. They were beautiful children, still braving Hogwarts and shaping a future yet to come.

“Woah, you are, like, dad’s double!” Jai laughed when he first saw the brother that he had never met. “It’s kind of freaky.” The boy’s emotions were carefree and kind, though. Panic still ate Harry from the inside.

One of the girls narrowed her eyes at Harry, her fingers loose around her wand. “You have beautiful eyes, more so than mom’s. I’ve never seen that color. Oh, and I’m Melanie.” The palm she offered for a shake was calloused, fingers long and thin.

Harry didn’t have the heart to tell them what shade of green his eyes are (the death curse shade, he knew Sirius can tell, he saw it in the man’s expression).

…

He doesn’t understand his siblings; he’s scared of them at some moments. Remus sat next to Harry and watched the boy who feared physical contact and warmth of another human being.  Sadness and rage (for it may not be _his_ Harry, but it was _a_ Harry) made his fingertips tingle.

“Did you have friends, back at your world?” The man asked instead of _whys_ and _whos_ that threatened to break out. He was neither James, nor was he Lily. Their son, their rage for the deeds done.

Harry blinked slowly, as if waking up from a dream. “Hermione and Ron. They died.” He laughed and it sounded broken, beyond repair. The boy then jumped when Jai stopped before him, as if he had said something dirty.

“You did not deserve that.” The younger boy said (because life is simpler at eleven) and wrapped the broken shell of his older brother in a hug. “But you’re here now, so we can make it better.”

And Remus had hope.

…

Slowly Harry opened up to three kids, all younger than him and without the marks of a war and battles that cut deeper than flesh. There was something refreshing about being with those, who knew nothing about how cruel people could be, about the ugliness of humans.

Well, they knew sorrow, for even in this world Voldemort had left his signature in red.

But there had been no encore, no act two. _Lucky them_ , Harry thought with a pang of jealousy.

“So how do you do it, this transfiguration?” Rosalyn ( _call me Rose, everyone does anyway_ ) placed the pinecone before Harry. She looked expectant, as if Harry knew all the answers to the hardest questions of magic.

Harry looked at her, confused. But when wasn’t he, while in this world? “James.. I mean, your dad? Our..? Well, he is good at transfigurations, you know.” Talking about his parents as a part of the living was still strange. But he was getting better.

Rosalyn curled her lips in a smile, genuine in her interest, “Well yeah, but I want to see you do it. Dad goes too deep into explanations; I’m only a fourth year. You can do better, I think.” Then she waited.

…

“I’m okay. I can do this.”

Harry stood before the doors of Godric’s Hollow cottage once more, his hands trembled and his breath stuttered like a bird. There were eyes watching him from within the house and from across the street – family on both sides. Did he even deserve this new start?

Was it worth it?

The door opened and Lily stood before him once more. They were the same height, now. A mother, who had lost a son to a foolish war, and a son, who had to grow up facing the consequences of a tragedy – what a pair the two of them made. But her smile was welcoming and she smelled like herbs and honey. Her hair soft against his cheek.

“Welcome home.” She whispered like a prayer.

Harry breathed and swallowed everything that wanted to make this a dream. “I’m… Hello.”

…

James was taller than him. His hands big, with spider leg fingers covered in blisters and calloused from hours spent on the quidditch pitch. The man laughed carefree (Melanie had his laugh, Harry noted) and pulled his oldest into a hug the second they met.

Finally. After so long, years of mourning.

Harry froe, everything had been so sudden. But slowly his muscles relaxed and he breathed again, memories from long ago painted long forgotten pictures anew. Never before had he cried this much.

It was freeing. A new kind of victory over his own fears.

“I am so proud of you. Padfoot told me what you told him and Moony. Different universe or not, you’re still my kid and I am so proud.” James slid his fingers through Harry’s mess of hair, like one would do with small children. He smiled and wondered, then, if this was the first time someone had does this to his boy.

It was.

…

It took a while. Panic attacks; late night talks across steaming cups of tea; times when everything was too much and Harry needed to leave and be alone - baby steps, doubt, reassurance. Rinse and repeat on some days.

But one day he woke up and looked at this new family and thought _this is mine, I deserve this_. Clear-headed and happy, Harry thanked the fates for bringing him here.

And he laughed, he helped his sisters with homework, taught his brother how to fly. Magic granted him this new world. This new chance at life, a new beginning.

And sometimes, Harry didn’t hate magic as much as he used to.


End file.
